


The First Tree to Bloom in the Desert

by thedreadsatanica



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Dark, Drama & Romance, F/M, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedreadsatanica/pseuds/thedreadsatanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grima has been defeated. The Shepherds return home with those they forged bonds with during the harrowing ordeal. The time for war is past - now is a time for love to prosper and bloom. But love itself is not an act without a struggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Tree to Bloom in the Desert

The rock bit into Lon’qu’s hand once more, piercing wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal yet.   
He was beyond feeling pain by now. He had been climbing for far too long.  
Blood streamed down his arm from the bruised and black gashes on his hands.   
He narrowed his eyes in order to better see what awaited him ahead.  
The harsh, menacing sun cut his gaze as he scanned the wall. It remained impossible for him to gauge his progress since the sun had retained the same amount of cruel brightness as when he had begun.  
That’s just the way it was in Plegia. Everything from its desert to its cruel, harsh sun was an enemy to human survival.  
His first thoughts when hearing about what had happened were scattered.   
He thought about contacting the Shepherds for help, but the Grimleal had made it clear that no outside interference would be tolerated.   
His blood rose and heated, instilling in him a desire to face the savage cultists himself, blade in hand as he sliced through their numbers.   
But he wasn’t strong enough. He knew this now that he had survived three wars by the skin of his fingers.   
That same skin which now lay flayed against his bloodied hands.  
The sun pierced his skin, opening lacerations of blood and sweat which poured down his arms and dissolved into the blackness of the cliffside rock.  
They had been in an argument. Something too petty and insignificant to remember.   
But after the argument came her inevitable storming off, something he had become accustomed to since just a week after they had wed.   
She no longer threatened to curse him with hexes - a threat she never did deliver upon.  
But in a ways, the silence was worst.  
It was something he was finding increasingly harder to stand - how she would just ignore him.  
He wandered off himself to find any pub dark and musty enough for him to dull away his agitation at.  
The streets of the capital were choked with sand and dust. And everywhere he turned, the sun followed. That harsh, cruel, and menacing sun.  
His hands begged to stop, to slip off and cause him to fall.  
But he couldn’t allow it.  
He continued up the cliff, his mind throbbing with the echoes of memories.  
The Grimleal approached him when he was taking in his third glass of thick, black Plegian rum.  
They whispered their terms in his ear and threatened death on dissent. Not his death, but Tharja’s.  
His fingers reached for his sword while they insisted that that wasn’t a wise move.   
He would meet their demands precisely the way they wanted.   
Not his death, but Tharja’s.  
***  
It came as a distant murmuring at first, drifting in and out of the white void of half consciousness.   
But Tharja was eventually able to hear them. Apparently they had forgotten just who she was.   
They had thought that putting a sleeping hex on her would take her out of commission. But her own magic certainly wasn’t something that any person with a modicum of sense should overlook.  
Even while her body slept, her spells were able to weave about and awaken her mind.   
Their mutterings were erratic and disjointed.  
It would seem that the Grimleal’s plan wasn’t going too well.  
She allowed herself a moment of relishing at their misfortune before reminding herself why she was here.  
(Lon’qu.)  
That’s right. The oaf had got them both into trouble this time. He should have left Plegia when he had the chance. Instead, he decided to linger on, even after refusing to meet with her parents.  
What a fool.  
And that was only the latest in a string of irritations that her husband caused her.  
But she supposed that now wasn’t the time to mull over such trifling matters.  
Not when their…..her life was at stake.  
She would need to communicate with Lon’qu.   
Luckily, she had just the spell for that. The fool thought him invulnerable to her hexes, unaware that she had the ability to cast them without his knowledge.  
****  
(Lon’qu.)  
"H-huh?"  
His hand nearly slipped before digging into a crack in the rock wall.  
(I need to speak with you.)  
“Tharja? How are - how did -?”  
(We don’t have time for you to panic. You must listen to me.)  
He closed his eyes, the heat of the sun burning red in black.   
“You were able to get away?”  
(No.)  
“Then how - “  
(Just listen for now. I’ll explain it all later.)  
“You’ve cast a hex on me. You said you never would.”  
(The sun must be frying your memory. I ALWAYS say I will. Or what, did you think them empty threats?)  
Lon’qu groaned. “Fine. Just get to explaining the situation.”  
(I was about to. How far are you from the tree?)  
Lon’qu glanced upwards, the sun ushering him away before he could fully take in what he could see.  
“I don’t know. I can’t see the top.”  
(You’re not going to the top, you fool!)  
“I know! I just….I can’t exactly gauge my progress.”  
(Why, when did you lose your sense of direction?)  
“Enough, woman! Ughh, just tell me what you needed to.”  
(…..Fine.  
When you get to the tree - provided IF you get to the tree, there is a slight change in procedure you must take.)  
“I was supposed to procure just a jar of nectar and bring it back.”  
(Yes. But there is an additional action I would need you to take.)


End file.
